


prayer

by druidforhire



Category: Ghost Quartet - Malloy
Genre: nothing i draw could ever do Prayer justice so i wrote instead. still doesn't do perfect right by it, this was late night stream-of-consciousness junk
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-09-15
Updated: 2018-09-15
Packaged: 2019-07-12 19:55:31
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 862
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16002179
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/druidforhire/pseuds/druidforhire
Summary: I will try to forgive myself.





	prayer

**Author's Note:**

> I wrote this at 2 AM and it's almost entirely unedited. Enjoy!

_i will try to forgive myself._

the older stands in the forest, by the river, in the evening, in a light rain. there is no expression on her face, but she waits patiently for her younger, like an older sister should.

she knows the younger is more than mad at her. she is right to be, but she is not right in how far she goes for revenge. “what have we come here for?”

  


_for living in the dark._

soldier does not know why she bothers.

soldier sits alone at a table, with the darkness around her (in her) and the moon over the windowsill at her back.

soldier has given up. soldier doesn’t believe in anything but ghosts and death.

soldier knocks back another drink.

  


_for my loss of wonder._

scheherazade dances slowly across the massive room in this 14th century persian palace of the shah zaman while david serenades, again, on that piano. this room is high up. against the backdrop of the night sky between the giant pillars where there is no wall, david would think her beautiful, but he’s not looking. he couldn’t, anyway. the piano is blindingly painful and he will not stop for her.

the room was always so empty even when dunyazad was here. the tango dancer wanders, floats, glides across the room, and plays between the pillars where the floor drops to the ground far, far below.

  


_for forgetting how to play._

“alright,” lady usher says, kissing her little daughter on the forehead. and she reads.

the full moon is bright enough to read clearly by, so she doesn’t bother to light any candles, just opens the curtains.

she loves roxie, she does, and she envies her too, with her imaginary friends and fantasy adventures around the house with swords made from furniture and armor made from scrap. lady usher sometimes wishes she could play with her, like her, but she’s always afraid she’ll drag on roxie’s fun.

but at least they both share one thing. if anything will soothe them, it will be the stories from their vast library.

  


_i will try to forgive myself._

“honestly, i get the most excited after holidays. you know? then everything left over’s on sale. i still have halloween candy.”

“mhmm,” says pearl. she doesn’t look up from her phone. rose is used to this.

_for being absent in public._

rose pulls her down the steps of the subway under the buzzing fluorescents. pearl looks up only to watch her step, but once they touch the bottom she opens her phone again, confident rose will keep her from bumping. only the terminal gets her to look up again. rose is still talking.

rose is used to this. she knows, at least, that pearl is listening. pearl is just bored. she’s lived here her whole life, after all, but rose is still dazzled by the million city lights.

_and bored before stars._

she pulls out her camera, because the metro is a strange place. there’s always weird stuff happening and as a photographer, who would she be to miss those chances? she once caught a man pulling out a lemon from his backpack and peeling it. rose loves the cities. she loves her camera.

they step up to the platform. “i know everyone complains about the new york underground being dirty and full of rats–”

“–and crazy people. look at that guy over there.” pearl motions her head in his direction. in her phone game, a bear shrieks, a noise horrid and piercing even through the noise of the crowd. rose winces.

“–no, i’m not looking at him, i don’t want to make eye contact. but besides that.” she grins and holds up her camera.

pearl looks up and grins at rose, a tired and knowing look. “how much have you spent on film again?”

“not enough.”

_for not remembering._

the pusher gives a push.

_for not being in my body._

a dazzling flash of headlights, the roaring howling thunder-drum of wheels on tracks, and the driver can’t stop and pearl can’t climb out and the pusher is too drunk off his fucking ass to do anything and rose _does not do anything._

_for not starting right now._

out of learned instinct, the skill of a photographer, she does what she’s always done. she lifts up her camera. pearl hears a flashbulb rip.

  


_i will try_

_to see myself_

the younger does not respond. the younger hangs her head down.

and in a flash of rage, she grabs her older by the shoulders and shoves her backwards, and sends her reeling into the white river. but the dismount is not clean and the older is not swept under instantly like the younger thought she would be. instead she stumbles, grasping at the younger with an expression of terrible betrayal on her face before the water pulls her down.

the younger stands there, and she knows she will see her eyes when she closes her eyes. the wind and the rain has picked up--has it always been this cold out here? she grits her teeth, shivers while rubbing her shoulders, and walks away.

how dreadful.

  
  
  


_as i am._


End file.
